


Taking Off

by allonsyalice



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:46:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsyalice/pseuds/allonsyalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin is seated next to a charming older guy on her way home from visiting her sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Off

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt taken from The Marrish Zone on tumblr!!

At least she had gotten an aisle seat. The flight from California to New York had been brutal, and now, two weeks later, after seeing her older sister and the Columbia campus, Lydia Martin was expecting the same type of flight. She had already spotted two babies, both sleeping peacefully. The moment the plane would take off, they would be crying.  
She walked down the aisle, stuck behind a frazzled woman trying to stuff her oversized knockoff Louis Vuitton carry on in the overhead bins. Lydia fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was the middle of summer, and the heat was about three hundred times worse in this plane than it was outside. It was just too hot, and that was affecting her mood for the worse.  
Her row was empty when she approached it, but she sat in her aisle seat and prayed no body else showed up. She shoved her laptop bag underneath the seat and resting the book she was carrying on her lap.  
She flipped it open, seeing some notes about Columbia, on a piece of looseleaf she had shoved in to it when she left Beacon Hills. Easy if she wanted it, her grades were way high enough and she had been told that Columbia would be lucky to have her, but she wasn’t exactly she that she wanted Columbia.  
She pulled the piece out of her book and crumpled it up, tossing it into the window seat.  
“I’m sorry,” the voice was male, and beautiful. Lydia looked up and locked eyes with a man about six years older than her, smiling sweetly. She had to look away. His eyes were gorgeous, a shade of green that seemed to sparkle with mischief and delight.  
“I’m in the window,” he said, and Lydia got up, letting him pass.  
“I think you dropped this,” he said, handing the crumpled piece of paper back to her.  
“Thanks,” she said, even though she did not mean it at all. He put his bag underneath the seat in front of him and turned to her. She faced him, not willing to break eye contact this time.  
“Do you live here?” he asked.  
“I was visiting my sister and some universities,” Lydia said, and immediately cursed herself. Why did she say she was looking at universities? He didn’t care. And if she hadn’t, she could have passed for at least twenty-two.  
“I thought so,” he said, an easy smile still gracing his face, “I think I would have seen the prettiest girl in New York before, but you’re not from New York. Where are you from?”  
“Beacon Hills, California,” Lydia said.  
“So, the prettiest girl in Beacon Hills then,” he said. Lydia rolled her eyes. He was cute. An awful, cheesy flirt, but at least he was cute, “aren’t I lucky?”  
“I think we’ve talked enough about me for a little bit,” Lydia said, “what about you? Why are you spending five hours and twenty minutes on this godforsaken plane?”  
“I came down for my brothers wedding,” he said, “I was the best man. It was pretty nice.”  
“Yeah,” Lydia said slowly, “I bet your girlfriend had fun.”  
“I would have been seated at the singles table,” he said, “no girlfriend. Or boyfriend for that matter.” The video announcing all the safety measures aboard this Boeing 7-47 played on the seat back TV’s in front of them. Lydia turned towards hers with a small sigh. Her heart was racing, but she couldn’t understand why. He was cute, and he made her smile. She had missed that. Maybe more than she had realized.  
As the plane took off, they turned towards each other again.  
“If we are on this plane for how long?” he asked.  
“Five hours and twenty minutes,” Lydia supplied the answer.  
“Right,” he said, “if we are on this plane for five hours and twenty minutes, I should at least get your name.” He was right. It would only be polite.  
“Lydia Martin,” She said, holding her right hand out.  
“Nice to meet you, Miss Martin,” he said, kissing the back of her hand as if they were in a romantic comedy, “I’m Jordan Parrish.”


End file.
